


all we want

by orphan_account



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Parent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:16:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19030873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	all we want

 

   Doyoung's life comes crashing down at 22.

   Drops of rain wack against the pavement like shards of glass, relentless and bitter. As bitter as he feels, but Doyoung ignores all of that as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, his steps growing quicker as his parka coat fails miserably to do its _job_.

   Thankfully, it’s not too much of a distance. He makes it just in time, standing in front of the candy red door, shoulders deflated.

   He hasn’t even _knocked_ , but the door opens anyway.

   Seulgi narrows her eyes when she seems him.

   “Forty minutes.”

   “I know,” Doyoung says, holding up a hand because he knows exactly what’s coming next. “I was at the till for twenty; the store was _packed_ , Seulgi. And the landlord called right before that and…”

   Seulgi blinks, concern crossing her face at Doyoung's words.

   “And what did _they_ say?”

   Doyoung inhales, the rain beating down against his shoulders, his coat. He doesn’t need to say anything – he doesn’t _want_ to. It’s been like this for _months_ , that much is certain. There isn’t much point in hiding it anymore.

   Just like the rain, only lighter, there are faint patters against the floorboard inside. Jeno pokes out his head out, gripping Seulgi’s jeans with one hand, coat and drawing in the other.

   Seulgi sighs, hands folded across her chest. “He was really quiet today, you know,” she says, voice low. “He ate everything and played with the other kids, but…”

   “I drew this, Doyoung!” Jeno stands up on his tiptoes, reaches just enough to hand Doyoung an average sized piece of paper. It’s strange, how he sounds so _enthusiastic_ , even if his voice is barely above a whisper. He fiddles with the zip of his coat while Seulgi regards him with a sad smile.

   Doyoung stares at the drawing for a moment, laughs a little when he figures out what the drawing actually _is_. Clearly a person, stick thin, jet black hair with blue streaks that Doyoung hasn’t sported in _months_.

   “Is...is this supposed to be me?”

   Jeno nods, eye smile galore, and Doyoung feels his heart melt.

   “They were supposed to draw someone they love for a belated valentine’s day,” Seulgi explains, her sad smile curved into a beam of joy. Jeno pulls up his hood, ready to go, and Doyoung takes his tiny hand in his own. “Doyoung, if you need _anything_.”

   They both know Doyoung won’t ask, but at least Seulgi can _pretend_ to try.

   “I know,” he says, making no effort to meet her eyes. “Thanks, Seulgi.”

   And then, Doyoung turns around, takes a deep breath, and dives into the onslaught of bitter rain.

 

***

 

   In Jungwoo’s defence, he thought he’d be back before it started raining.

   He chooses to be optimistic at the worst of times, ignoring the bleak shade of sky, slate and imminent until it burst, releasing a downpour so merciless, he wonders whether the sky has been heartbroken, too.

   It doesn’t seem like it’s going to end, and the sky keeps _crying_ , vexed, while Jungwoo can only stumble and look for shelter among the empty street. He can feel the rain in his shoes, down his neck and through his sleeves. Right now, his quilted jacket does _nothing_ , and he makes a mental note to buy a new one once this intolerable weather blows over.

   And now, he leans under a plastic bus stop, hands under his armpits as shaky breaths escape his fragile lips. The bus stop is empty, and there’s only the odd taxi driving by to keep him company.

   The universe isn’t the only thing who hates him, sometimes.

 

***

 

   The windshield wipers are just barely battling against the cruel rain, and Doyoung is thankful that the road is empty enough for him to _focus_. Jeno is secured in the back, silently playing with his toy cars on the fold–out table. Seulgi’s right – he _has_ been quiet recently, and Doyoung can’t ignore the guilt that materialises in his stomach at the thought. He waves it away, promises to do _something_ about it when they get home.

   (The pain in his stomach only grows when he thinks about the fact that he – _they_ may not have a home, soon.)

   Doyoung narrows his eyes through the window, and the rain only seems to cascade down harder in retaliation. It’s still light, but the fast falling droplets make it difficult to see _anything_ , and Doyoung wants to be _sure–_

   A dense storm brews in his chest.

   Because, there's _Jungwoo._ Jungwoo, who hugs himself under a transparent bus shelter. He’s soaked and shivering, and he’s biting on his bottom lip so hard, it could quite possibly bleed. Doyoung gulps at the sight of him; they haven’t spoken in months. Maybe, even a _year_.

   Yet, his stomach still dips, he still feels awful when he sees Jungwoo like this, and he feels his car slowing down before he even realises that _he is_.

   And before Doyoung even notices, he’s come to a complete stop. There’s the smallest distance between their car and the bus shelter, enough that Jungwoo would have to squint to notice them, but not _too_ much. The street is empty, after all.

   This is _stupid_. Doyoung could easily continue driving if he wanted to; they’re already behind in their routine, and Doyoung really, really should get home before their landlord calls again but–

   He _can’t_.

   Doyoung inhales and counts to ten, wonders how much he’ll regret this later.

   And then, he pushes down his window, failing to anticipate the rush of wind that runs through the car as he does. He also wonders whether Jungwoo will notice him, first.

   He doesn’t. Because Jungwoo’s eyes are still on the ground when the window is rolled down completely, wind beating against Doyoung's face, and his eyes don’t once leave the ground until Doyoung quite literally cranes forward and almost yells: “Jungwoo!”

   Jungwoo’s head darts up, eyes scanning around the empty street until they find the source of the noise. He looks _startled_ , and he opens his mouth to say something, only to close it instantly. He’s still shivering, and Doyoung wonders how they haven’t seen each other in _this_ long.

   Doyoung purses his lips together, sparing a quick glance at Jeno in the back seat. He’s entirely preoccupied with his cars, _this should be fine_.

   “Jungwoo,” Doyoung tries again. His voice shakes. “Get in. I’ll drive you home.”

   Jungwoo only blinks at that, and for a moment, Doyoung wonders whether Jungwoo even _heard_ him. There’s still a fair distance between them, and the rain hasn’t slowed down at all.

   But then, Jungwoo’s lips curve upwards, weak from the cold, and he politely shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ll just wait it out.”

   Now, it’s Doyoung's turn to blink. He blinks, once, and then he stares. And he stares and stares for a long while, in the hopes that Jungwoo will stop being ridiculous and accept the damn offer. The rain is _bitter_ , and the shelter may be fine, but he clearly only found it recently, because Jungwoo is just about drenched; he’s _shaking_ and Doyoung _knows_ that he can’t drive away with him like this. Jungwoo knows that, too.

   “The next bus is due in fifteen minutes,” Jungwoo eventually says, as if that’s supposed be reassuring. “It’s fine.”

   Honestly? It’s not fine.

   Doyoung grips the wheel in frustration, pursing his lips again as he faces forward and mentally curses at the whole universe. He doesn't like being forceful, but Jungwoo is _stubborn_ , and now is absolutely not the time for any of this.

   So, it's one sharp inhale on his part, another grip at the wheel that could potentially break it.

   “ _Get in the damn car, Jungwoo_.”

   He doesn’t look up, and the wind keeps rushing in through the open window. He’s not sure whether Jungwoo will take up his offer, whether he’ll be left waiting in the road until the next bus _does_ arrive.

   But then, he hears something against the rain. Heavy steps, trudges, and he’s enveloped by a glacial breeze. The car door shuts as quickly as it opens, and then–

   _Warmth_.

 

***

 

   Doyoung doesn’t drive immediately. He tweaks the car settings, turning the heating up a little higher. He turns the radio on, too, and a generic pop song hums at a low volume in the front of the car.

   Jungwoo has never been in Doyoung's car before, and now is probably one of the _worst_ times. He’s utterly drenched and thankful for the fact that Doyoung's car has leather seats. Still, as grateful as he is for Doyoung's kindness, there’s no mistaking the unfamiliarity that airs between them.

   “You should take off your coat,” Doyoung eventually says. His voice is steady, careful, and his hands grip the wheel so tightly that his knuckles are almost white. “And put on your seatbelt.”

   Jungwoo doesn’t argue, not in the mood for saying much, and he does exactly that. His coat is as good as useless now; he goes to hang it on the back of his seat when his heart very literally jumps in his throat.

   There is...a child. _A child_. In the backseat. A toddler, actually. With dishevelled black hair and crescent eyes watching him with an odd combination of alarm and curiosity. Jungwoo feels himself freeze when their eyes meet; the child, as small as he is, looks _exactly_ like Doyoung. The same thin eyes and narrow face shape – Doyoung is worlds paler, but besides that, the two are virtually identical.

   The car begins to move. The road is empty, entirely linear, yet Doyoung keeps his eyes fixated on the front window as Jungwoo struggles to put two and two together.

   He can’t...he can’t _quite_ believe it. Has the much really changed in two years?

   Jungwoo turns back to face the front, not expecting much of an explanation as Doyoung drives through silver streets. The rain still beats down, audibly thrashing against the car and the windows, and Jungwoo wonders how Doyoung can see _anything_ in this weather.

   “Doyoung…” There’s an audible gulp from the back of the car, muffled under small hands and toy cars, but Jungwoo still hears it. Loud and clear. “There’s a stranger in the car.”

   “It’s okay, Jeno,” Doyoung reassures almost immediately. His voice is softer, now, and Jungwoo notices how the tension seems to leave his body as soon as he speaks – how he _changes_. The voice of the person Jungwoo met not so long ago, and yet, it feels like a lifetime away.  “I know him.”

   He keeps it at that, and that’s about as simple as it can _be_ , but the two of them know that it is so, _so_ much more complicated.

   “Oh.”

   And then, the car falls silent. Besides the monotonous background music, the endless rain and the occasional sound of Jeno fiddling with his toy cars, silence blankets them. And Jungwoo is now highly aware of his deep breaths, how he exhales, one and two and _three_.

   Jeno wordlessly hands him a toy car through the gap of their seats. It’s almost too big for his hand, a little cartoonish looking, but Jungwoo blinks and takes it from him, anyway. There’s still a sense of unease in his eyes, but his expression has softened, at least.

   Jungwoo feigns a small smile at him, though, he’s still freezing and simply smiling right now feels _painful_ ; for a multitude of reasons.

   There are toy cars _everywhere_. Scattered all over the back seat; yellow and red and green and _blue_. A lot of blue.

   Doyoung is still utterly concentrated on the road ahead of him, and Jeno blinks as he attempts to balance four other toy cars in his short arms.

   It’s actually quite adorable.

   He says something under his breath, far too quiet and oh so _delicate_.

   “I can’t hear you,” Jungwoo says.

   And again, the tension seems to lift from Doyoung's shoulders as he gently says: “Jeno, remember what we said about speaking louder?” He peers through the rear view mirror, and his face softens, too.

   “I–I like cars,” Jeno repeats, only a fraction louder; he sounds as sheepish as he looks, and Jungwoo really, _really_ can’t believe that this is Doyoung's kid.

   Jungwoo tries to smile again, and he’s actually kind of thankful that Doyoung isn’t looking at him. “I can see that; your dad buys you a lot of cars.”

   Doyoung's jaw clenches at that; Jungwoo catches it next to him. And again, like a switch, he’s rigid, his arms stiffen and he honestly looks like he’s about to erupt at any moment.

   But Jeno just looks down at his cars like a bouquet of flowers, swinging his legs so that they bang against the seat.

   “My dad’s not allowed to see me anymore,” he says, casually – _rehearsed_. “Doyoung looks after me, now.”

   The car shakes; Jungwoo thinks it’s just him, but the car quivers, the wind picking up and threatening to take everything else with it. Something lodges in Jungwoo’s throat at Jeno’s words, and Jungwoo can’t help glancing at Doyoung; as if there’ll be some kind of noiseless confirmation.

   There isn't one, but Doyoung does say: “I’m going straight to ours; I...I can’t drive in this.”

   Jungwoo mouths an “ _Okay_ ,” and thinks that the storm isn’t the only reason why he wants to get out the car is soon as possible. “You can drop me off somewhere, you know. I don’t m–”

   Doyoung outright _glowers_ at him before the final word escapes his lips. It’s the first time he’s looked directly at him this entire journey, and Jungwoo can’t decide whether it’s more _satisfying_ or _frightening_.

   “Absolutely not.”

   Jungwoo bites his lip. He holds the canary yellow toy car in his hands, his lap. His jeans are dry up to a point, but his shoes are just as good as his coat right now.

   Like the world, the car shakes. And shakes and shakes and _shakes_ –

   And then, it stops.

   “Home!” Jeno’s lively voice jolts him; it’s still low, but for Jeno, it’s _loud_. He kicks his seat in excitement, and Jungwoo expects Doyoung to smile back at him, but he doesn’t.  Doyoung's jaw only tightens, and he keeps his hands firmly on the wheel – like he’s contemplating driving away.

   There’s a slight tremor in his voice that Jungwoo manages to catch – but it’s _there_. Jungwoo hears it. And it pulls on his heartstrings a little. “Yeah; home.”

 

***

 

   They’re on the third floor. Doyoung is used to the stairs, but Jeno is slow – one at a time, keeping his hand tight in Doyoung's. Sometimes, Jeno wants to make it a race, and Doyoung slows down to let him win. Other times? Jeno is perfectly content, leisurely making his way up the stairs, counting each one until they make it to number sixty–seven.

   _This_ is one of those times. Jeno clutches his favourite toy car against his chest, cobalt blue, as he counts under his breath. Jungwoo is even behind him, but Doyoung makes a point of not looking back unless he absolutely _has_ to.

   (He also makes the point of reminding himself that he didn’t _have to_ pick Jungwoo up from the bus shelter. He didn’t have to bring him back to their apartment, but he did.

   Doyoung may be bitter, but he’s _not_ heartless. The line is blurry, but it’s there.)

   They make it to their floor, turning a corner as Jeno springs across the hardwood floor. Doyoung hangs back and unzips his coat pocket, searching for the keys.

   “Doyoung, what’s this?”

   “Hm?” He doesn’t look up. He’s still far behind, and the keys are all tangled in his damn pocket. “What’s wrong, Jeno?”

   “We have a letter on our door!”

   Doyoung's head snaps up, eyes darting towards the direction of their door, number eighty–two. And right there, Doyoung feels a million glass shards, piercing his lungs, one by one until he deflates into _nothing_. It screams at him, a persistent clamour in his ears, bold letters against salt white paper, taped to his door as if he doesn’t already _know_.

   Doyoung sucks in a breath through his teeth, shuts his eyes, and not for the first time, the weather reflects his sentiments flawlessly.

   Jungwoo doesn’t say anything, but Doyoung feels the way he blinks next to him. He’s shivering, too, teeth chattering, and Doyoung wants to say he doesn’t care but he _does_. Too much.

   Doyoung swallows thickly, but even that _hurts_.

   He wordlessly opens the door, plucking the sheet away with the weakest grip imaginable. Jeno slips off his shoes, and almost forgets to take off his coat when Doyoung doesn’t remind him. He does so eagerly, rushing to the bronze sofa and taking the remote control in his hands. He knows how to turn on the television now, and it’s always on the kids’ channels, anyway; Doyoung hardly ever watches TV.

   Jungwoo lingers in the doorway, and Doyoung doesn’t have to look to know that he’s being judged. Their place is _tiny_ , he’s aware, barely enough room with his art supplies occupying majority of the area. The ringing voice in the back of his mind constantly asks him how he’ll manage when Jeno isn’t as tiny, when he grows up to his height and they can’t share the same single bedroom anymore.

   Truthfully? Doyoung doesn’t know. He wants to say they’ll be in a better place by then, but he has a difficult time even believing in _that_ right now.

   “Make yourself at home,” he says, but doesn’t really mean. “Turn the heating on or eat or…”

   Even talking _hurts_.

   He feels Jungwoo’s eyes on him, but Doyoung opts to ignore it, and leans against the kitchen counter instead. Miraculously, his hands _don’t_ shake as he holds up the paper to read it with crow’s eyes, but he chews at his lip like he actually _wants_ it to tear – and it almost does.

   Jungwoo still stands there, and Doyoung has the sudden urge to snap at him.

   He doesn’t, but Jungwoo is still watching him with concern he really shouldn’t have, and Doyoung knows what’s coming next.

   “Doyoung…”

   “ _Don’t_ ,” he raises up a hand, but _that_ shakes instead. It’s either his hand or his voice, and Doyoung doesn’t know what’s worse.

   And for a moment, it seems like Jungwoo might actually leave him alone. He looks away, arms folded across his chest in an attempt to fight off the harsh cold of the rain. Jeno is under his watchful gaze, but he hardly notices – far more interested in watching cartoon animals chase each other on screen.

   Doyoung reads _it_ over. Twice. He knows it by heart, actually, and he’s sure there’s something impaling that, too. Is that why he can barely feel it?

   He sets it down on the soapstone counter; grey. Everything is _grey_ ; the sky is entirely bleak, and Doyoung hardly believes it’s only February.

   Maybe he _can_ call Seulgi. She knows a lot of people after all, and she’s one of the few people he fully trusts with Jeno. One of the few people who knows the full story. She _knows_ him; knows _them_. Maybe asking for help isn’t as pathetic as it seems, right?

   (So why does he feel like he’s wrong?)

   Jeno giggles at something on TV, and Doyoung easily pictures the way his eyes curve. As dramatic as it sounds, it’s what he lives for – _everything_ he lives for.

   He plucks a banana from a bunch and hands it to Jeno, who beams like he’s never seen one before.

   Doyoung kisses the top of his head, hopes to every damn deity that it will all work _out_.

   “Remember to put the peel in the bin, okay?”

   “Okay,” Jeno nods, quiet as ever while he furrows his eyebrows in concentration. He insists on doing everything by himself these days, and Doyoung lets him. Mostly.

   Jungwoo sits himself at the dining room table; not much of a dining room, seeing as it blends right into the kitchen, which blends into the living room, only separated from their bedroom by a door. It’s easy for keeping his eye on Jeno and the endless antics toddlers get into, but, as sad as it is, _that_ won’t last long, either.

   Doyoung perches himself opposite – albeit, tentatively. Jungwoo’s teeth chatter even as he rubs his hands together. His shirt is light, long–sleeved and white, and absolutely not the thing to wear in this kind of weather.

   “What were you doing out in the rain anyway?”

   Doyoung feels himself speak so suddenly, and his voice bites; enough for Jungwoo to startle. And Doyoung doesn’t know how to approach... _this_. Whatever _it_ is; they’re not friends, they haven’t spoken in who knows how long, and the last time they _did_ –

   Jungwoo blinks down at the circular table, forearms resting against it while he considers a fair answer.

   “I was going for a walk.”

   His lips stretch into a plastic smile, and his jaw is fixed, though his voice is perfectly poised. And Doyoung doesn’t know what to think.

   Doyoung opens up his mouth to protest _why_ exactly Jungwoo would choose to take a walk at such a time, but Jeno and his silent steps beat him to it.

   “Doyoung,” Jeno makes a point of tugging at Doyoung's sleeve and pointing. He whispers, too. “What’s his name?”

   Doyoung doesn’t respond right away. He’s hesitant about introducing the two of them, because his shoulders still carry some considerable hostility – more than they probably should.

   He gulps.

   “You should ask him,” Doyoung leans down. He doesn’t look at Jungwoo at all, but Jeno does. For some long moments, it’s _all_ he does, shyness evident. “Remember to speak louder.”

   Jeno’s hold on him only tightens.

   “W–what’s your name?”

   Jungwoo smiles again, but this time, it’s bright. Wider and undoubtedly _real_.

   “I’m Jungwoo,” he says, just as soft.

   “Oh,” Jeno pauses. He turns and shows Doyoung his yellow banana peels, and Doyoung nods over towards the bin. Even his footsteps are unnervingly quiet as he moves, and though Doyoung is used to it, he can’t help but wonder whether it’s something he should be legitimately concerned about.

   And then, they’re silent again. Jeno is back in front of the TV, but he’s busy with his toy cars and funko pops, and Doyoung watches him.

   “I really thought he was yours, you know.”

      Doyoung blinks at that. Multiple times, in fact. It’s not the first time someone has made the assumption, and Doyoung never bothers to explain until they bring up the fact that Jeno calls him by his forename and nothing else. And even then, he keeps it simple.

   Jungwoo is no different, so Doyoung sucks in a breath and says: “He’s my brother’s.”

   It sounds cautiously calm, and Doyoung doesn’t expect Jungwoo to probe any deeper. Too much has happened today that he’d prefer to forget, and seeing Jungwoo today of all days only rubs salt in the wound.

   Speaking of which, he really should call Seulgi. Or Johnny. He’s barely home anymore, always a keen traveller who spends more time in Bangkok with Ten than he does in his own apartment. It shouldn’t be an issue–

   Doyoung stands up. A little sudden, sudden enough for Jungwoo to follow his form with anxious ocean eyes. The same eyes that Doyoung refuses to get lost in again, the same eyes that used to (and still do) remind him of twinkling lights in the mellow evening.

   “Doyoung.”

   The wind bats against the window, vicious and violent; a sharp contrast to the sheer delicacy in Jungwoo’s voice. Though the rain seems to have dwindled to light droplets, the weather is still utterly atrocious.

   Doyoung doesn’t say anything – he simply looks on. Looks at Jungwoo, raising his eyebrows slightly because they’re both currently in a situation that neither of them _want_ to be in.

   Jungwoo closes his mouth and looks away.

 

***

 

   Doyoung doesn’t really talk to him for the rest of the evening.

   Jungwoo isn’t surprised, but it’s downright arduous avoiding him in such an overt place, never mind _looking_ at him. Yet, even without trying, Jungwoo notices the weariness that lies upon his shoulders, the disquietude in his eyes and the way his voice shakes ever so slightly.

   Still, Jungwoo remains silent, and the unanswered question of what to _do_ – _what they are_ – stays just that: unanswered.

   (Though, Jungwoo _does_ have a couple of answers. And like staring down at a paper of multiple choice questions, he can’t seem to find one that _fits_.)

   He finds himself chancing an occasional glance at the alarming pearl white paper that’s held down only by a half–finished water bottle acting as a paperweight. It’s not addressed to him, but Jungwoo watches Doyoung pace down the room, dialing various phone numbers and being put on hold, and his own stomach dips in apprehension as if it _is_.

   It’s not the only thing on his mind; far from it. There are a hundred and one different options swimming through his head, ranging from perfectly conventional to _Jesus Christ, Jungwoo, you can’t be serious_ –

   “Jungwoo.”

   It pulls Jungwoo out of his ceaseless thoughts, the way the car comes to a complete halt and he feels nothing but Doyoung’s eyes on him as he goes to undo his seatbelt. The storm came to end long ago, but by then, it was far into the evening and Doyoung had already cooked.

   He pauses from where he’s seated against the car door, slipping out and away from Doyoung’s life for as long as he can manage.

   (It wouldn’t be the first time.)

   Their eyes lock, and Jungwoo feels his stomach churn, bending into knots as he looks into Doyoung’s ink black eyes. They’re not a distant as they were a couple of hours ago, but his jaw is still tight, and Jungwoo has to let his breaths even out before he replies.

   “Thank you for the r–”

   “Why were you out in the rain?”

   Jungwoo bites his lip. The question catches him off guard a little, but the truth is, he doesn’t really _know_. And he does. It’s stupid, and every explanation he can come up with will sound just as ridiculous as his first.

   “I told you,” he begins, slow and voice no higher than it needs to be. Jeno is asleep in the back, shutting his eyes as soon as the journey began, and besides the occasional gust of wind, there isn’t much background noise surrounding them. “I was going for a walk.”

   That’s when Doyoung’s eyes narrow; only by a little, but they still _do_.

   “I don’t believe you.”

   “You don’t have to.”

   It’s a staring contest, a game of who will break first. And somehow, it’s Jungwoo who wins, because Doyoung draws his gaze away first. Light droplets of rain drizzle down the car windows; the only sign of the storm’s existence.

   Jungwoo inhales. His hands still grip the undone seatbelt, and he consciously glimpses at Jeno in the backseat. Even in sleep, he’s not seen without toy cars in his lap, a teal blue fleece blanket dangling on his legs.

   And then, he catches the way that Doyoung clenches and unclenches his free hand, a habit of his whenever he’s tense, and it punctures his chest like a speeding bullet.

   “How long is it?”

   Doyoung turns towards him, but doesn’t answer. Jungwoo tries again:

   “The eviction. How long is it?”

   For a moment, Doyoung looks taken by genuine surprise. He examines Jungwoo, scrutinises his intentions before responding.

   “Seven days.”

   Jungwoo delays for a beat, blinks at him, hard and fast, lips parting and closing as Doyoung hardly bats an eye.

   “That’s…that's really soon,” Jungwoo feels himself whisper. He’s not sure whether he’s talking to himself, but Doyoung responds anyway.   
   “I know,” Doyoung shrugs, and laughs bitterly, despite himself. “I know.”

   And then, they’re wrapped in silence. Again. Rain begins to fall, hushed and delicate, and the wind settles with the rare huff. Jungwoo feels like he’s already overstayed his welcome, and if he doesn’t try _now_ –

   Jungwoo swallows thickly. His throat feels dry.

   “Me and Jaehyun broke up,” he says, _tremulous_. “If you guys need somewhere to stay…”

   He’s not sure how to finish his sentence – all he hopes is that it’s clear enough for Doyoung to _get it_.

   But, Doyoung simply _watches_ him, with an expression that Jungwoo can’t really read. His face softens slightly, the way it seems to whenever he talks to Jeno, and his lips part, then close, then part again, and something in Jungwoo _cracks_.

   “It...it was just a suggestion,” he gulps, and Doyoung shuts his eyes.

   “If this is because I picked you up when you decided to take a damn walk–”

   “ _It isn’t_.” Jungwoo vehemently denies, eyes widening at Doyoung’s assumption – no matter how valid. He opens his mouth to say something more, but decides that he’s already done enough damage; that much is evident in the way Doyoung’s eyebrows knit together. It only worsens the sensation in his chest, but Doyoung stares straight ahead, and so, Jungwoo only says, “Thank you for the ride.”

   And then, Jungwoo forces himself out the car. The air isn’t as cold as he imagined, but he still feels his cheeks flush as he does.

   It's not the first time Jungwoo has walked away, and it's not the first time he's felt Doyoung's unwavering gaze on him like this, either.

 


End file.
